A FRIENDLY  VISIT 

TO  OUR 

INDIAN  STATIONS 


1914 

WOMAN’S  AMERICAN  BAPTIST  HOME 
MISSION  SOCIETY 

2969  VERNON  AVENUE,  CHICAGO 


A FRIENDLY  VISIT 

TO  OUR 

INDIAN  STATIONS 


1914 

WOMAN’S  AMERICAN  BAPTIST  HOME 
MISSION  SOCIETY 
2969  VKRXON  AVENUE,  CHICAGO 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/friendlyvisittooOOwoma 


A FRIENDLY  VISIT  EG  OUR  INDIAN 

STATIONS 


IN  the  year  1912  the  board  of  managers  of  the  Woman’s  American 
Baptist  Home  Mission  Society  requested  Miss  Isabelle  Crawford,  who 
had  been  doing  general  work  for  some  time,  to  make  a visit  to  each  of 
our  Indian  fields  and  study  not  only  the  work  now  being  done  there,  but 
also  to  spy  out  “land  yet  to  be  possessed.” 

With  tbe  great  desire  to  see  Amos,  the  son  of  Lucius,  who  was  rapidly 
failing  in  health.  Miss  Crawford  went  directly  to  her  former  field.  Saddle 
•Mountain,  Oklahoma.  I he  Indians  were  overjoyed  to  see  her  and  their 
characteristic  manifestations  of  delight  under  the  peculiar  circumstances 
were  pathetic. 

Of  this  principal  incident  Miss  Crawford  gives  a graphic  and  touching 
description,  under  the  title  of 

I HE  PASSING  OF  AMOS,  SON  OF  LUCIUS 

I he  camp  was  six  miles  from  the  mission.  It  was  composed  largely 
of  the  nearest  of  kin,  about  fifty  in  number.  As  we  drove  up,  dogs  in- 
numerable rushed  upon  us,  but  slunk  back  as  the  Indians  flocked  from  the 
tent  villages. 

Death  was  hovering  near,  so  the  greeting  was  almost  silent.  A few 
of  the  older  people  took  me  in  their  arms  and  their  hot  tears  fell  upon  my 
shoulders.  One  by  one  others  came  to  take  my  hand,  drop  it,  and  suddenly 
turn  to  the  west.  1 here  was  an  outer  circle  of  motionless  figures  wrapped 
in  blankets,  with  bowed  heads,  too  stricken  to  extend  a welcome.  Lucius 
was  not  among  their  number.  Poor  Lucius!  Holding  back  till  he  thought 
the  rest  had  extended  their  greetings  he  staggered  from  an  arbor,  weak 
from  exhaustion  and  with  face  swollen  from  weeping.  Seizing  my  hand, 
as  if  to  lean  upon  it,  he,  too,  abruptly  turned  from  the  radiant  sun  and 
gazed  through  blinding  tears,  off  toward  the  tent  where  his  loved  son  lay. 
.At  last  with  an  effort  and  a trembling  band,  be  lifted  my  conversation 
tube  to  his  lips.  There  was  a long  suppressed,  “Oh,”  followed  by,  “I 
am  — so  — glad  — to  — speak  into  this  once  more.  Jesus  — has  — 
answered — our  — prayers.  A 011  have  come  in  time.  My  — poor  — 
boy  — is  — alive  — yet.” 

Suddenly  there  was  a succession  of  shrill  screams  and  Mokeen,  his 
poor  old  father,  rushed  frantically  into  the  crowd.  Gathering  his  “white 
papoose”  up  in  his  arms,  he  turned  away  from  the  sun  toward  the  tent 
and  gave  himself  over  to  uncontrollable  cr\dng.  Smothered  sobbing  filled 
the  air  and  the  beaming  sun  looked  down  upon  a scene  of  indescribable 
pathos:  little  groups  of  weeping  Indians  facing  the  sunset  and  a white  tent, 
apart  from  the  rest,  trying  with  Christian  fortitude  to  say,  “Though  He 
slay  me  yet  will  I trust  in  Him.” 


3 


As  soon  as  I could  gain  control  of  m\self  I signed,  “Wait!  Let  us  all 
trv  to  stop  crying,”  and  pointing  to  the  tent  I walked  with  Lucius  toward 
It,  followed  hy  Akometo,  Doyemah,  Spotted  Horse  and  a few  others. 

Poor  little  Amos!  Wasted  to  a skeleton,  and  with  every  feature 
distorted,  he  looked  at  me  with  eyes  that  spoke  of  intense  suffering.  There 
was  a long  steady  gaze  of  silent  recognition  and  slowly  a faint  smile  lit  up 
his  countenance.  1 hen  Minnie,  his  faithful  wife,  slipped  away  and  Lucius 
took  her  place  at  the  bedside.  The  parched  lips  moved.  Lucius  bowed 
his  head  and  raised  it  bravely  in  a few  moments.  .A  sad  silence  followed. 
After  several  attempts  the  message  was  finally  given.  “.Amos  — Amos  he 
say  — Amos  he  says  to  tell  you  - how  glad  - - he  is  — to  see  vour  — face 

— once  more.  \\  hen  - he  heard  you  were  coming  he  asked  — everv- 
hody  — to  pray  — that  his  life  — might  he  spared  — till  you  got  here. 
Jesus  has  — answered  our  prayers  — you  — you  — are  the  one  — who 
brought  him  - into  the  road  — the  Jesus  road  — and  now  — that  — he 

has  — seen  — you  — he  — is  — ready  — to  — pass  on  - to  — the  — 
beautiful  Home.”  Poor  Lucius!  How  he  ever  interpreted  it,  I do  not 
know. 

As  soon  as  I could  speak  I bowed  over  the  death  bed  and  said  in  a 
clear,  slow  voice:  “Amos,  dear”  (the  eyes  looked  up  into  mine),  “it  is 
kind  of  Jesus  to  bring  me  to  you  in  time.  I am  glad  to  see  you.  It 
won’t  he  long  now  till  you  leave  for  the  Beautiful  Home.  Jesus  will  meet 
you  at  the  door  and  you  will  find  inside  waiting  for  you  your  dear  little 
mother,  Mabel,  your  little  daughter  Grace,  the  little  brother  and  sister  and 
many  more.  How  happy  all  will  he  to  welcome  you  home.”  Such  a glad 
smile  passed  over  Lucius’  face  at  the  mention  of  Mabel,  the  wife  he  adored, 
that  1 could  not  go  on.  I he  white  lips  moved;  Lucius  kept  his  head  down 
a long  time  after  they  were  still.  I his  is  what  he  heard:  “\\  hen  I get  — 
there  — I — will  tell  them  — how  — kind  — everyone  — has  — been 

— to  — me;  and  — I will  — thank  — Jesus  — for  — sparing  — my  — life 

— to  — see  — her  — face  — once  — more.  .My  father  — I want  — you 

— to  — pick  up  — the  Jesus  — work  after  1 — am  — gone  — and  — 
push  - it  — like  — you  - - used  — to  — before  — she  — left.”  I he  dying 
eyes  looked  hist  at  Lucius  and  then  at  me.  I he  senses  were  failing,  but 
Christian  consciousness  was  alert. 

Smoothing  the  hair  tenderly  hack  with  both  hands,  Lucius  arose. 
The  wife  took  his  place.  The  old  woman  nurse,  at  the  other  side  of  the 
bed,  walked  round  and  folded  me  in  her  arms.  All  wept  silently.  Outside 
a great  awning  had  been  placed  in  front  of  the  tent.  Some  seats  had  been 
arranged  and  many  blankets  spread  upon  the  ground.  Slowly  and  sadly, 
men,  women  and  children  gathered. 

Jf  'hat  a jriend  zve  have  i?i  Jesus. 

All  our  sins  and  griefs  to  bear. 

It  hat  a privilege  to  carry 
Everything  to  God  in  prayer. 

It  was  Amos’  favorite  hymn.  He  had  translated  it  into  Kiowa  and 
now  It  echoed  around  his  dying  bed.  Bravely  it  was  begun,  everybody 
singing,  then  one  hy  one  voices  ceased  and  the  rest  sang  louder.  Over  and 


4 


over  again  the  words  were  repeated  by  little  groups,  here  and  there.  As 
feelings  became  uncontrollable,  others  recovered  and  took  up  the  strain. 

Can  we  find  a friend  so  faithful 
H’ho  will  all  onr  sorrows  share? 

Jesus  knows  our  every  weakness  — 

Take  it  to  the  Lord  in  prayer. 

Never  shall  I forget  the  singing  ot  that  hymn.  I he  sun  was  sinking 
toward  the  west.  I sat  on  the  ground  talking  to  Mokeen.  “Jesus  has 
let  me  visit  you  once  more,”  I sighed.  “He  has  brought  me  in  time  to 
say  goodbye  to  your  dear  grandson  and  to  ask  you  once  more  to  put  your 
feet  in  the  Jesus  road.”  With  bowed  head,  the  tears  falling  on  the  withered 
grass,  the  old  man  sat  dumb  — thinking,  thinking,  thinking.  Suddenly 
a hand  was  placed  on  both  our  shoulders  and  Lucius’  voice  said,  “Eina!” 
(Come).  Hastening  to  the  tent,  we  found  Lucius  and  Amos  with  clasped 
hands.  Reaching  for  my  ’phone,  Lucius  said,  “ He  wants  to  give  one  more 
message  to  his  grandfather.”  Mokeen  bowed  his  whole  body  over  a cbair 
at  tbe  bedside  and  waited  as  it  tor  tbe  executioner’s  axe.  The  sunken 
eves  turned  toward  him,  and  in  a voice  scarcely  audible,  Amos  said,  “My 
grandfather! — You  know  — I love  you  — and  you  love  me.  .My  time  — 
has  come  to  leave  — the  earth.  Will  — you  — promise  to  — meet  me  — 
m the  lieautiful  Home.'”  The  eyes  stared  a while  and  then  the  drooping 
lids  closed  over  them.  Lucius  broke  down.  1 was  perfectly  helpless. 
Unconscious  of  wife,  children,  father  and  friends,  his  body  racked  with 
pain:  .Amos’  last  thoughts  were  for  a lost  soul.  ,Sobbing  aloud,  the  old 
man  answered,  “-My  dear  grandson,  1 know  that  you  love  me  and  \ou 
know  that  I love  you.  1 have  held  my  heart  back  from  Jesus  too  long  — 
I bold  it  back  no  more,  1 give  mvself  to  tlim  now.  1 will  meet  you  in  the 
l^eautiful  Home.  ” 

.A  look  not  of  earth  passed  over  the  d}  ing  face  and  again  the  thin  lips 
parted.  It  was  a long,  long  time  before  Lucius  lifted  his  head  and  said 
between  his  sobs,  “.My  dear  boy  — says  — this  — is  — the  — last  thing 
— Jesus  — has  for  — him  — to  — do  on  — earth.  Now  he  — is  ready 
to  — go  on.”  Poor  Lucius! 

We  passed  out  of  the  tent,  and  before  the  rising  of  the  sun  the  spirit 
of  -Amos  was  with  his  Lord. 

W ith  the  exception  of  the  article  above  .Miss  Crawford’s  reports  were 
not  written  with  the  thought  of  publication. 

hollowing  the  death  of  .Amos,  .Miss  Crawford  soon  passed  on  to  the 
Indian  stations  nearest  Saddle  Mountain.  She  writes  of  her  visit  to 
W atonga,  where  the  Cheyennes  and  .Arapahoes  are  located: 

W'ATONGA 

On  July  third,  1912,  I said  goodbye  to  Saddle  .Mountain,  and  took  tbe 
tram  for  W ashita.  .After  waiting  at  the  station  about  half  an  hour, 
Bro.  I reat  appeared  and  we  drove  to  Red  Stone  Mission,  where  we  were 
cordially  received  by  Mrs.  Treat  and  little  .Alice.  The  Indians  were  all 
away. 


3 


Next  morning  we  arose  early  and  were  soon  on  the  way  to  the  Washita 
mission  near  Anadarlco,  where  we  spent  a very  “sane  Fourth”  with  Rev. 
Mr.  \\  ilkins  and  family,  enjoying  native-grown  plums,  peaches  and  apples. 
The  Treats  returned  to  Red  Rock  the  same  night,  but  I remained  at  the 
mission  and  next  morning  took  the  train  for  Mountain  View. 

Bro.  H.  H.  Clouse  met  me  and  soon  we  arrived  at  the  mission.  Every- 
thing about  the  place  was  in  apple-pie  order,  the  fences  were  all  up,  the 
buildings  well  painted,  and  the  whole  appearance  of  the  place  was  Ai.  The 
Clouses  have  worked  hard  and  the  results  are  apparent.  The  older 
Indians  came  to  church  on  Sunday. 

On  Monday  I traveled  on  to  Elk  Creek.  Bro.  Halverson  met  me  and 
took  me  not  “back  East,”  but  to  a “back  mission.”  Poor  old  place! 
It  was  painted  and  patched  up  and  neat  as  a pin  inside  but  needing  some 
repairs  outside. 

Many  of  the  unreached  Indians  are  in  small  bands  scattered  here  and 
there  all  over  our  country,  miles  and  states  apart.  To  send  missionaries 
to  these  small  companies  would  be  a waste  of  ammunition  in  that  so  many 
missionaries  would  have  to  be  sent  out  in  order  to  reach  all,  and  then  they 
would  not  have  work  enough  to  keep  them  busy.  The  thing  to  be  done  is 
to  locate  the  bands  and  then  stir  up  the  local  churches  nearest  and  make  the 
members  see  their  duty  to  these  neighbors.  Tbe  Elk  Creek  Indians 
should  be  under  the  wing  of  the  Baptist  church  at  Hobart.  The  Indian 
church  is  only  two  and  one-half  miles  from  the  town. 

I slept  in  my  old  room  at  the  mission,  took  a bath  in  good  soft  water, 
and  thought  of  the  time  when  I bathed  in  two  and  a half  cups  of  water  in 
the  same  room  many  years  ago. 

The  Indians  were  all  away  except  Lone  Wolf  and  his  family,  who 
greated  me  with  old-time  enthusiasm. 

I spent  one  night  at  Clinton,  and  then  went  to  Watonga.  Bro. 
Hamilton  met  me,  and  I w’as  soon  at  Miss  Jayne’s  home,  on  the  mis- 
sion farm.  Miss  Jayne  looked  the  picture  of  health  and  welcomed  me 
most  cordially.  The  mission  is  only  a short  distance  out  of  town  and 
Miss  Jayne  had  planned  such  a nice  “Training  School  Day,”  in  one  of  the 
homes  in  the  town.  It  was  up  to  date,  and  such  a lot  of  hne,  capable, 
nicely-gowned,  intelligent  women  attended.  Miss  Sue  Howell  and  myself 
were  the  guests  of  honor,  and  were  given  a most  cordial  reception. 

On  Sunday  morning  I spoke  to  a splendid  company  of  Baptists  in  the 
neat  little  church  at  Watonga,  and  I had  to  “boss”  myself  to  keep  from 
pointing  out  plainly  their  duty  to  that  little  Indian  mission  within  walking 
distance  of  their  very  doors.  I cannot  help  hut  believe  that  both  whites 
and  Indians  would  be  benefited  by  such  co-operation,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
conservation  of  resources. 

The  Indians  were  all  away;  I did  not  see  one.  None  called,  none 
came  to  church,  and  none  could  he  visited.  We  telephoned  to  Bro.  King 
to  see  if  I could  visit  his  field,  but  his  Indians  were  also  away,  and  the  whole 
visit  to  the  Indians  after  leaving  Rainy  Mountain  was  made  to  the  Indian 
missionaries  and  w'hite  Baptists.  The  Indians  have  not  yet  learned,  like 
the  Kiowas,  that  Jesus  w'ants  them  to  stay  at  home  and  work.  I cannot 
make  myself  believe  that  missionaries  can  successfully  teach  the  Indians 

6 


to  stay  at  home  and  live  orderly,  cleanly,  systematic  lives,  when  they 
themselves  are  compelled  to  be  on  the  road  so  much  of  the  time.  They 
cannot  set  a good  example  in  many  ways.  My  own  plan,  as  you  know, 
was  to  choose  a good  center  and  then  work  as  far  out  as  I could  consistently. 
The  Indians  came  to  see  how  we  lived,  they  were  always  welcome  to  go  all 
over  the  house,  look  in  every  room,  ask  questions,  and  in  this  way  learn 
that  they  must  settle  down  to  live  and  keep  things  outside  and  in  clean 
and  neat.  One  of  the  Indians  in  giving  his  testimony  once  said,  “I  try 
hard  to  live  a Christian  life,  and  my  yard  is  a Christian,  too,” — splendid 
evidence  that  he  was  trying  to  live  at  home  and  to  live  aright. 

If  all  the  remnants  of  Indian  tribes  in  this  fair  country  of  ours  are 
to  he  reached  with  the  gospel,  it  must  he  done  through  the  united  efforts 
of  the  local  churches  nearest  the  small  bands,  and  the  sending  of  mis- 
sionaries to  the  larger  numbers  b}’  our  splendid  missionary  societies. 

From  Oklahoma  to  .Arizona  Miss  Crawford  journeyed  to  study  the 
work  of  our  missionaries  among  Hopis  and  Navajos  and  to  discover 
if  possible  where  other  stations  might  he  opened. 

VISIT  TO  ARIZONA  .MISSIONS 

Is.XBELLE  Cr.VWFORD 
First  Mesa 

.After  wading  the  horses  through  miles  of  sand,  we  at  last  reached 
the  first  mesa.  Great  boulders  stood  up  here  and  there  in  the  yard,  the 
ponv  shed,  outbuildings  and  corrals  were  stuck  anywhere  and  every- 
where, while  the  mission  house  and  church  seemed  planted  with  a view  to 
growth. 

There  is  some  difference  between  building  on  ‘‘solid  ground”  and  on 
“sinking  sand.”  We  built  -where  we  chose  at  Saddle  Mountain:  Miss 
Johnson  built  where  she  could. 

Certainly  the  church  is  a monument  to  Miss  John’s  ‘‘ free-masonry  ” 
ability.  It  is  the  prettiest  church  building  in  the  district.  Of  light  gray 
stone  with  art  windows  (one  stained  glass),  it  looks  like  a portion  of  a 
beautiful  city  church  that  angels  had  carried  and  deposited  where  it  was 
needed  more.  I stared  at  its  artistic  beauty  in  blank  astonishment  and 
listened  while  .Miss  Johnson  told  me  how  she  had  stood  upon  the  walls, 
day  in  and  day  out,  directing  the  unskilled  Indian  workmen  and  cheering 
their  drooping  spirits.  Imagine  that  frail  little  woman  upon  the  church 
walls  with  lime  and  plaster  and  stones  and  Indians  and  line  and  plummet 
and  faith  in  God ! 

The  only  blemish  in  the  whole  thing  is  the  tower.  I o be  m correct 
proportions  with  the  rest  of  the  building  it  should  have  gone  up  about  four 
feet  higher.  But  the  money  had  given  out,  the  Indians  were  tired,  and 
the  work  stopped. 

It  is  said  that  the  Jews  in  building  their  homes  always  leave  some 
little  part  unfinished  to  show  that  they  look  forward  to  a perfect  home 
not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens. 

Miss  Johnson’s  work  at  the  First  Mesa  is  not  finished.  The  work  she 


has  bravely  started  here  will  extend  beyond  our  mortal  vision  and  hnd  its 
completion  “around  the  throne  of  (jod  in  Heaven.” 

Second  Mesa 

It  was  about  sunset  when  we  drove  up  to  Sunlight  Mission  — another 
higglety-pigglety  settlement  founded  upon  a sand-pile!  How  the  build- 
ings keep  from  sliding  down  hill,  I don’t  know!  There  they  stood,  the 
church,  the  hospital,  the  mission  house  and  several  Indian  homes,  while 
“all  around  was  sinking  sand!” 

Mrs.  Beeman  and  Miss  Nelson  met  us  at  the  door  with  faces  beaming. 

1 hey  were  so  daintilt'  gowned  and  their  complexions  were  so  beautiful 
that  I thought  they  must  have  been  the  city  angels  who  had  borne  the 
heautihd  church  on  their  wings.  How  glad  they  were  to  welcome  their 
“country  cousin”  from  “hack  East,”  and  Miss  Moodv,  driver  of  the 
broncho  team  horn  Kearns  Canyon  Mission! 

After  supper,  served  on  pretty  blue  and  white  china,  we  sat  around 
and  visited,  all  missionary  topics  were  excluded,  and  the  evening  was 
spent  talking  and  laughing  and  “spinning  yarns.”  I think  the  girls 
made  me  tell  them  all  the  funny  stories  I knew,  and  I threw  in  a few  “mis- 
sionary experiences”  that  sent  them  to  bed  limping. 

Next  day,  Steve  came,  and  we  visited  all  the  villages  upon  the  rocks. 
It  was  a wonderful  experience.  Burroos,  hens  and  people  all  looked 
stunted  as  if  climbing  had  dwarfed  them.  Women  rushed  into  their 
queer  dwelling  places  as  we  approached,  and  then  turned  and  gazed  at  us 
with  naked  bosoms  exposed,  and  faces  that  expressed  the  densest  of 
ignorance.  Dogs  barked,  chickens  flew,  and  burroos  gazed  in  stupid 
wonder,  hut  the  children  “trailed  us”  some  in  “citizens’  clothing,”  some  in 
Eve’s  clothing,  and  some  in  bare  skins.  “Full  dress”  is  never  becoming, 
hut  in  the  case  of  the  naked  savage,  I think  it  a step  in  the  right  direction. 
How  thankful  we  should  he  that  at  our  many,  many  “functions”  we  are 
once  removed  from  the  savages,  no  matter  how  little  we  may  have  on. 

Upon  entering  one  of  the  villages  we  met  the  inhabitants  coming 
from  a mountain  top  pond  dripping  with  mud.  They  were  returning  from 
a mud  hght,  and  how  sorry  I was  not  to  have  had  a chance  to  participate 
in  it!  A young  couple  had  announced  their  engagement,  the  relatives  on 
both  sides  had  repaired  to  the  mud  pond  and  there  pelted  one  another 
with  real,  genuine  mud,  and  clipped  off  the  ends  of  each  other’s  hair.  One 
old  woman  I stopped  and  laughed  with,  was  plastered  from  head  to  foot, 
and  great  chunks  of  her  hair  had  been  chopped  off.  Faces,  hair,  backs, 
clothes  and  every  part  of  them  were  all  coated  over  in  chunks.  I he  mud 
balls  had  been  bred,  and  flattening  on,  wherever  they  hit,  they  stuck  on 
in  little  mounds  all  over.  Certainly  all  the  natives  looked  as  if  they  had 
had  a good  time,  “taking  no  thought  for  the  morrow  what  they  should 
put  on !” 

As  we  traveled  down  the  rocks  late  in  the  day,  we  visited  “shrines” 
where  prat  ers  were  made  to  spiders  and  snakes  at  stated  times  in  the 
year  when  rains  were  needed  for  the  crops. 

I he  held  matrons.  Miss  Abbott  and  Miss  Badger,  added  much  to  the 
pleasure  of  our  trips  and  proved  very  clearly  that  it  is  not  necessary  to  he 

8 


a full-fledged  missionary  under  appointment  of  some  missionary  board 
in  order  to  do  faithful  Christian  service  for  the  King. 

It  is  said  that  those  Indians  once  were  driven  up  the  rocks  by  their 
enemies,  and  seeing  how  secure  they  were  and  how  splendidly  they  could 
survey  the  maneuvers  of  their  foes,  they  build  their  homes  up  near  the 
sky,  and  have  continued  to  live  there  generation  after  generation. 

When  asked  to  conduct  family  worship  the  morning  after  our  trip, 
these  were  the  words  that  were  read: 

“ Ihe  Lord  is  my  light  and  my  salvation: 

Whom  shall  I fear.^ 

The  Lord  is  the  strength  of  my  life: 

Of  whom  shall  I he  afraid.' 

When  the  wicked  even  mine  enemies  and  toes  came  upon  me  to 
eat  up  my  flesh, 

I hey  stumbled  and  tell. 

I hoLigh  an  host  should  encamp  about  me 
My  heart  shall  not  fear. 

I hough  war  should  rise  against  me,  in  this  will  I he  confident  . . . 
For  in  the  time  of  trouble  he  shall  hide  me  in  His  pavilion,  in  the 
secret  of  his  tabernacle  shall  He  hide  me. 

He  will  set  me  up  upon  a rock. 

.And  now  shall  mine  heart  be  lilted  up,  above  mine  enemies 
round  about  me,  therefore  will  1 offer  in  His  tabernacle  sacrifices  ot 
joy. 

I will  sing,  vea,  I will  sing  praises  unto  the  Lord.” 

.As  1 finished  reading  1 emphasized  the  last  words  tor  the  benefit  ot 
the  brave  missionaries,  ‘‘Wait  on  the  Lord!  Be  of  good  courage  and  He 
will  strengthen  your  heart!” 

On  Sunday  in  the  little  Sunlight  Chapel,  after  speaking  to  the  ‘‘faith- 
tul  tew,”  I asked  for  messages  to  send  hack  to  the  Kiowas  at  Saddle 
.Mountain  who  had  sent  to  them  the  gospel.  Listen  to  some  of  the  letters 
handed  in. 

” I'o-night  I will  write  a few  words  to  your  people.  We  are  all  thank- 
ful tor  the  first  money  you  gave  to  send  the  missionaries  to  Hopiland  when 
we  did  not  know  anything  about  Jesus.  Now  we  all  know  that  He  is  the 
one  who  made  us  and  everything  m the  land.  So  now  we  are  all  trying  to 
live  right  so  that  we  may  he  safe  when  Jesus  comes. 

“With  love  to  you  all, 

‘‘Jessie  Hayne.” 


“ My  dear  Brothers  and  Sisters: 

‘‘I  am  glad  Miss  Crawford  came  to  visit  us.  I was  very  glad  to  see 
her  and  the  other  Hopis  were  too.  We  all  enjoyed  her  talk  about  your 
sending  the  missionaries  to  us.  Now  some  of  us  know  Jesus  and  have 
moved  down  off  the  rocks  because  some  things  up  there  were  not  good. 
We  want  to  live  the  Christian  way,  and  are  happy  now. 

‘‘  I heard  you  lost  .Amos,  and  I am  very  sorry,  because  I know  how  1 


9 


felt  when  1 lost  my  little  girl.  But  we  know  Jesus  helps  us  when  we  are 
in  trouble,  and  we  are  praying  for  you. 

“One  of  your  ‘spiritual  papooses.”’ 

“Steve  Inonestwa.’’ 

d o write  of  Sunlight  Mission  and  not  mention  the  name  of  the  brave 
tounder.  Miss  McLean,  w'ould  he  about  as  heathenish  as  to  speak  of 
Rainy  Mountain  and  omit  the  names  Reeside  and  Ballew.  If  all  the 
D.  D.’s  on  the  continent  should  be  rolled  into  one,  that  one  would  not  be 
able  to  lay  a more  substantial  foundation  than  that  laid  at  Sunlight  Mis- 
sion by  Miss  Mary  McLean,  D.  D.  D.  D.  D.  D.  D.D.  D.  I hink  of  it,  no 
member  of  that  church  is  allowed  to  smoke,  dance,  or  play  cards.  It 
has  gone  ahead  of  the  mother  church  at  Saddle  Mountain;  although  none 
of  the  deacons  or  officers  of  that  church  smoke,  yet  some  of  the  members 
do.  All  honor  to  her  “wdio  bore  tbe  burden  in  the  heat  of  the  day”  and 
in  the  dark  of  the  night! 

Kearns  Canyon 

In  introducing  me  to  the  churchful  of  Indian  school  children  and 
government  employees.  Rev.  Lee  I.  Thayer  said,  after  describing  these 
three  missions  and  the  Saddle  Mountain  work,  “ It  gives  me  great  pleasure 
to  introduce  to  you  the  ‘mother  of  us  all’!” 

When  I was  at  the  First  Mesa,  1 said  to  Miss  Johnson,  “Who  made 
all  those  shelves  and  that  cupboard.^”  She  replied,  “Mr.  Thayer.” 
“Who  made  that  dear  little  desk  with  drawers?”  I asked  Mrs.  Beeman,  at 
the  Second  Mesa.  She  replied,  “Mr.  Ihayer.”  “Who  made  that  splendid 
kitchen  table?”  I asked  Miss  Nelson.  Sbe  replied,  “Mr.  Thayer.” 
“Who  made  all  the  things  you  have  in  your  room?”  I asked  Miss  Moody, 
resident  missionary  in  Mr.  Thayer’s  home.  She  replied,  “Mr.  Thayer.” 
If  Mr.  Thayer  called  me  “the  mother  of  us  all”  I feel  satisfied  that  I can 
as  truthfully  say  of  him  that  he  is  the  father,  grandfather  and  godfather 
of  every  girl  missionary  on  that  lone,  isolated,  forsaken  field,  and  if  Baptists 
are  ever  allowed  to  have  patron  saints,  he  and  Mrs.  Ihayer  will  be  their 
choice,  for  already  they  are  worshiped  by  them  all. 

In  closing  I wash  to  say  that  the  Arizona  work  at  every  individual  mis- 
sion is  work  our  society  can  w-ell  be  proud  of.  It  is  all  in  perfect  running 
order  and  directed  by  a perfect  gentleman  and  one  who  thoroughly  appre- 
ciates the  untiring  efforts  of  the  four  splendid  missionaries  who  work  so 
harmoniously  with  him. 

I he  onlv  suggestion  I have  to  make  is  that  Miss  Johnson  should 
have  a helper.  She  is  not  strong,  has  the  language,  knows  the  people,  and 
if  a helper  could  be  sent  before  she  breaks  down  completely,  trying  to  do 
two  people’s  work,  she  could  work  on  long  enough  to  give  the  new  worker 
such  help  and  information  it  w’ould  otherwise  take  years  to  acquire. 

Miss  Myrtic  Rayner  of  the  class  of  1913  B.  M.  1’.  S.  was  sent  to  Miss  Johnson's  assist- 
ance in  the  same  year  of  her  graduation,  as  an  associate  missionary.  Miss  Rayner  is  doing 
excellent  work. 

Miss  Craw'ford  proceeded  to  Nevada  to  visit  the  three  mission  stations 
among  the  Piutes.  She  writes  as  follow's: 


10 


THE  VISIT  TO  NEVADA 


Ihe  State  Convention  was  at  Sparks  — a convention  composed  of 
twelve  churches  and  no  associations.  Mrs.  Smith,  the  faithful  state 
director,  Miss  Millspaugh,  District  Secretary  of  the  Pacific  Coast  for  our 
society,  and  Misses  Corwin  and  Click  were  all  there,  representing  our 
work.  Women  predominated,  as  usual  at  such  gatherings,  and  as  usual, 
did  more  than  their  share  of  listening.  Miss  Millspaugh  and  I had  an 
evening  between  us,  and  there  was  the  best  kind  ot  appreciation  and 
enthusiasm. 

After  the  convention,  a few  churches  were  visited,  and  then  we 
took  in  the  Indian  missions  at  Reno,  Carson,  and  Eallon.  Miss  Corwin  is 
a regular  general  all  right,  and  if  she  holds  out,  will  dot  Nevada  all  over 
with  Indian  missions.  Reno,  like  Elk  Creek  in  my  own  experience,  was 
her  starting  point,  and  from  it  she  has  felt  her  way  on  out  to  better  points. 

Fallon  is  a magnificent  location  for  a good  thriving  Indian  mission. 
It  is  just  across  the  road  from  the  agency  and  government  school,  and  the 
Indians  are  settling  on  their  allotments  as  fast  as  possible.  I hey  fill  the 
mission  on  Sundays,  and  the  sewing  meetings  are  well  attended. 

M iss  Corwin,  Miss  Ryan,  and  Aliss  Click  at  Reno,  are  devotedly 
loved,  and  1 nearly  went  “devotedly”  wild  when  I found  that  they  had 
to  haul  all  the  water  they  used  two  miles,  except  when  the  irrigation  ditches 
were  full.  \ ou  ought  to  see  Miss  Ryan’s  hands.  1 hey  look  as  it  she 
chopped  wood  for  a living.  I imagine  some  people  saying  “Well!  well! 
well!”  at  this,  hut  it  would  be  more  to  the  point  if  another  kind  of  a “well” 
were  put  in  at  Eallon.  The  mission  is  ten  miles  from  the  town,  so  of  course 
the  girls  have  a horse  to  help  them  haul  the  water,  visit  the  homes,  and 
do  the  general  work  ot  a pastor. 

Miss  R3'an  was  called  East  b\’  illness  in  her  home  and  Miss  Mary  E.  Brown  was  sent  to 
Eallon. 

Besides  the  services  on  Sunday  at  the  mission,  we  drove  to  town  and 
had  an  afternoon  service  in  the  Baptist  church  at  which  there  were  perhaps 
fifty  Indians  present  from  the  vicinity.  1 he  new  pastor  had  sent  invita- 
tions and  there  was  a fine  response. 

lo  my  mind,  it  seems  evident  that  where  there  are  small  hands  of 
Indians  temporarily  located,  near  towns  like  Reno,  Eallon,  Carson,  Elko, 
and  Lovelock,  the  local  churches  should  look  after  them  and  let  the  full- 
fledged  missionaries  go  to  the  reservations  where  there  are  so  many  more 
Indians  and  so  much  better  opportunities  of  doing  permanent  good.  Of 
course,  if  the  local  churches  won’t  do  their  duty,  whole  tribes  must  be  lost, 
I suppose! 

Carson  is  another  fine  point,  and  here  Miss  Corwin  is  doing  her 
best  work.  Stewart  Institute  is  a big  government  school  out  of  town, 
and  with  .Miss  Corwin  located  here  with  the  children,  and  missionaries  at 
the  homes  with  the  parents,  anyone  can  see  what  the  results  must  be. 

-As  I took  the  night  train  back  to  Sacramento,  I dreamed  of  dirty 
Indians,  sand  deserts,  greasewood,  sagebrush  and  burnt-up  mountains, 
and  two  nr  three  times  I jumped  up  in  my  sleep  to  “fight  it  out”  with  Aliss 
Corwin,  who  declared  Nevada  the  most  beautiful  state  in  the  Union.  She 

1 1 


knew  better,  however,  than  to  say  that  her  Indians  were  better  than  the 
Kiowas. 

Withcha  racteristic  humor  MissCrawford  describes hernext  visit  which 
includes  the  stations  Lodjje  Grass,  Wyola,  and  Pryor,  in  Montana. 

.A  V ISIT  TO  THE  CROWS 

There  are  varieties  of  opinions  regarding  the  education  of  our  Indians. 
Some  hold  that  they  should  he  educated  in  non-reservation  schools,  others 
favor  reservation  schools,  and  again  others,  like  Rev.  \V\  A.  Petzoldt  and 
Rev.  H.  T reat,  believe  that  the  day  school  in  the  midst  of  their  home  sur- 
roundings is  the  solution  of  the  whole  vexed  problem. 

I myselt  have  a very  strong  prejudice  against  the  day  school,  believing 
that  no  ordinary  Indian  child  will  rise  above  its  surroundings  unless  it  is 
taken  out  of  them  and  given  a broader  vision.  I care  not  whether  the 
school  is  on  the  reservation  or  off  of  it,  so  long  as  the  child  is  under  constant 
instruction  and  zvatchful  care  and  obliged  to  take  regular  baths  in  good  soft 
water  with  hard  soap,  not  only  once  a week,  but  in  some  cases  once  everv 
twenty-four  hours!  Good  habits  are  generally  formed  at  home,  and  if 
many  a white  lad  has  been  handicapped  all  through  life  because  these 
influences  have  not  been  elevating,  what  of  the  Indian  child? 

The  Crows  are  the  dirtiest  Indians  I ever  laid  eyes  on.  Their  attempt 
to  “hx  up”  after  they  become  Christians  is  both  pathetic  and  amusing. 
A big  new  sombrero  hat  with  an  eagle  feather  appendage  often  rests  on  the 
top  of  a head  that  carries  innumerable  “pigtails”  of  coggled-up  hair  that 
looks  as  if  it  had  never  been  combed  out  since  it  was  created.  \ giddv 
silk  handkerchief  over  the  head  of  a woman  may  give  her  a gay,  artistic 
finish,  but  back  of  it  one  can  see  eyes  suffering  from  disease  that  might 
have  been  avoided  by  observing  the  simplest  laws  of  health.  Even  the 
children’s  faces  show  that  the  red  paint  has  been  rubbed  in,  on  top  of  the 
dirt,  giving  the  whole  a grim\’  appearance. 

Bro.  Petzoldt  met  me  at  the  station  with  his  brand  new  automobile 
the  morning  of  January  9th.  He  was  so  changed  for  the  better  since  I had 
seen  him  last  that  I said,  “Hurrah  for  the  automobile!”  as  I stepped  on 
board  and  was  transported  to  the  first  Indian  mission  I ever  visited  in 
proper  style.  There  is  another  hard-working  missionary  and  his  wife 
who  ought  to  be  presented  with  an  automobile.  He  has  labored  with  more 
mules  than  any  theological  professor  I know,  and  if  anybody  will  take  me 
up  I will  give  the  first  ten  dollars  toward  an  automobile  for  Rev.  and 
Mrs.  Clouse  of  Rainy  Mountain,  Oklahoma. 

Chivers  Hall  was  visited  hrst.  School  was  in  session,  with  Miss 
WafHard  as  teacher.  I was  neither  surprised  nor  disappointed.  Every- 
thing was  exactly  as  I expected  to  see  it,  but  the  missionaries’  home,  where 
Rev.  Petzoldt  and  family  reside,  that  exceeded  my  highest  expectations. 
Art  and  beauty  combine  both  outside  and  in  to  make  a fitting  dwelling 
place  for  the  noble  missionaries  who  are  giving  their  young  lives  to  the 
cause  of  the  Master  amid  surroundings  almost  too  repulsive  to  imagine. 

A conference  of  all  the  Crow  missionaries  was  on,  so  I met  all  our 
missionary  girls  at  once,  Misses  Wafflard,  Oden,  Shaw,  and  Goodspeed, 


12 


together  with  a few  advanced  Indian  Christians.  I here  was  a splendid 
“flock”  of  Crows  out  on  Sunday,  arrayed  as  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  was 
not.  But  elaborate  elk  teeth  trimmed  dresses,  silk  handkerchiefs,  beads, 
bracelets,  rings,  earrings,  gaudy  blankets,  and  feathers  did  not  hide  the 
dirt.  It  was  there  all  right  enough,  in  some  cases  painted  in,  in  others  left 
on  in  layers. 

Bro.  Petzoldt  asked  me  to  speak  after  the  preliminaries,  and  I tried  to 
make  a strong  talk  on  “The  two  big  roads,  the  clean  road  and  the  work 
road.”  The  Indians  listened  as  only  Indians  can  listen,  hut  looked  as 
if  they  had  heard  every  word  I had  said  before.  At  the  close  of  the  after- 
noon talk  two  men,  cleaner  than  the  rest,  marched  side  by  side  right  up 
to  the  front,  as  if  they  were  going  to  take  up  the  offering.  “We  have 
been  talking  together,”^  said  Bear  Claw,  “and  to-day  while  you  are  here  we 
two  want  to  renew  our  consecration  and  cut  off  all  the  bad  roads.  Mv 
heart  is  open  wide  to-day.  When  you  go  back  to  the  Kiowas,  ask  them  to 
pray  for  us  two  men  that  we  may  keep  our  words  with  Jesus.” 

.All  I could  think  of  as  they  walked  back  to  their  places  was  a long, 
lank,  bleached  cabbage  that  my  father  brought  up  out  of  the  cellar  once. 
It  had  responded  to  a streak  of  light  that  reached  it  from  above,  and  had 
almost  changed  from  a vegetable  to  a flower.  Some  da}'  it  will  be  said 
of  many  of  these  poor  benighted  Indians,  “These  are  they  which  came 
out  of  great  tribulation  and  have  washed  their  robes  and  made  them  white 
in  the  blood  of  the  Lamb.” 

.An  Indian  came  to  call  after  the  two  services  were  over.  “Two 
Whistles”  was  his  name,  and  he  certainly  was  a dirty-looking  specimen. 
“I  am  half  Crow  and  half  Kiowa,”  he  said.  “I  lost  my  arm  on  the  war- 
path. and  I have  heard  that  the  Kiowas  took  it  hack  with  them.  1 want 
you  to  hunt  for  it  for  me,  for  I would  like  my  body  all  buried  in  the  same 
place.” 

.After  a service  in  the  school  house  for  the  white  people  after  supper, 
I went  down  the  line  fifteen  miles  to  W’yola,  where  Miss  Oden  and  Miss 
Shaw  are  in  charge  of  the  work.  I hey  have  a fine  building,  school  and 
home  combined,  and  the  girls  seemed  very  happy  at  their  isolated  station. 
.Miss  Shaw  is  the  da\-  school  teacher,  and  about  the  same  kind  of  work  is 
being  done  as  at  Lodge  Crass.  lo  me  every  child  looked  as  if  it  needed  a 
good  lathering  of  soap  and  water,  with  an  “Old  Dutch  Cleanser”  finish. 

On  the  wall  in  the  room  1 occupied  this  poem  was  placed  in  a prominent 
position : 

Lord  help  me  live  from  day  to  day, 

In  such  a self-forgetful  way. 

That  even  zvhen  1 kneel  to  pray. 

My  prayers  shall  be  for  others. 

Let  self  be  crucified  and  slain, 

.■Ind  buried  deep,  and  all  in  vain 
May  efforts  be  to  rise  again. 

Unless  to  live  for  others. 

I made  this  m\'  text  for  a “curtain  lecture”  in  which  I told  the  girls 
not  to  dare  to  live  in  such  a “self-forgetful  way”  as  to  let  themselves  look 

O 


like  “scare  crows”  or  suffer  their  stomachs  to  collapse.  How  they  laughed. 
1 think  I knocked  all  the  sentiment  out  of  that  beautiful  couplet  for  those 
two  girls,  at  least.  Miss  Oden  hrought  in  some  of  her  pretty  clothes  for 
me  to  inspect,  and  I was  delighted  to  find  that  she  had  a brown  silk  made 
in  the  very  latest  fashion,  and  a crochet  collar  of  the  up-to-date  stvle. 
Miss  Shaw  had  pretty  things  galore,  so  the  curtain  lecture  didn’t  “hurt.” 

An  Indian  service  and  one  for  the  whites  completed  the  program 
here,  and  then  I boarded  a freight  train  for  Lodge  Grass,  where  the  Pet- 
zoldt  family  met  me  and  away  we  went  to  the  Crow  agency  and  the  Custer 
battlefield. 

Pryor,  where  Miss  Goodspeed  holds  the  fort,  was  the  next  objective 
point.  It  was  hard  to  reach.  I had  to  go  hack  to  Billings,  stay  all  night, 
take  a train  to  a little  tank  station  called  Warren,  and  then  drive  thirty- 
five  miles  with  the  mail  carrier.  I reached  the  end  of  the  day’s  journey 
just  before  dark,  had  supper,  did  my  week’s  washing  in  a basin  on  a chair 
in  my  room,  strung  it  out  on  papers  on  the  stair  railing  to  dry,  and  went  to 
bed. 

Sunday  was  a full  day.  At  eleven  o’clock  there  was  a Sunday  school 
tor  the  white  children,  attended  by  many  half-breeds.  Then  followed 
lunch  and  a meeting  for  the  Indians  in  a government  building  not  far  off. 
Some  of  the  natives  were  costumed  in  such  a “self-forgetful”  way  that  I 
nearly  gasped!  However,  they  sang  and  smoked  and  spit  and  drove  out 
the  dogs  with  such  vigor  that  I caught  the  spirit  and  gave  them  a red-hot 
talk  on  cleaning  up  and  going  to  work,  making  Christianity  the  inspiration 
to  both,  of  course.  At  the  close  of  the  meeting,  a woman  dumped  a whole 
pot  of  boiled  rice  out  on  the  floor  behind  her,  as  if  she  had  suddenly  deter- 
mined to  pick  up  the  “clean  road.” 

The  evening  meeting  for  the  whites  was  in  the  schoolhouse,  and  it 
was  packed. 

At  seven  next  morning  I was  on  the  road  again  for  civilization,  carry- 
ing with  me  memories  both  sublime  and  ridiculous.  Just  think  of  those 
girl  missionaries  living  that  awful  life  gladly,  while  others  think  it  a hard- 
ship to  pay  one  dollar  a year  toward  their  support! 

To  Southern  California  and  Auberry  to  visit  Miss  Schofield  and  Miss 
Christensen  was  Miss  Crawford’s  next  movement.  She  writes  humorous!}’ 
of  this  experience  as  follows: 

WITH  THE  MISSIONARIES  AT  AUBERRY 

At  six-twenty  in  the  morning  the  train  left  Eresno,  and  at  about 
seven-thirty  four  women  and  innumerable  men  with  huge  rolls  of  bedding 
got  off  at  a cross  station  called  El  Prado.  After  waiting  about  an  hour 
and  a half,  we  boarded  a freight  train  and  were  slowly  carried  toward 
the  hills.  The  caboose  had  two  benches  nailed  to  the  walls  and  on  these 
the  “specials”  sat  with  all  their  might.  One  of  the  officials  had  brought 
his  wife  along,  gowned  in  the  latest,  also  an  Edison  phonograph,  so  she 
would  not  forget  civilization.  There  were  engines  fore  and  aft,  and  freight 
cars  for  the  men.  A husky,  rusty,  agonizing  screech  from  the  engine  next 

U 


door  told  us  we  were  beginning  to  move,  and  the  phonograph  went  oft  on  a 
dance.  Faster  and  faster  everything  went  till  the  train  began  to  swagger 
and  the  phonograph  came  down  with  hiccoughs.  Suddenly  there  was  a 
long,  buzzv,  croupv,  wheezy  sound,  followed  by  silence,  and  the  dance 
ended.  The  engines  kept  up  their  music  — toot,  toot,  tooting,  as  they 
slowly  but  surely  struggled  upward.  The  one  on  ahead  was  “wrong  end 
to”  and  the  others  were  “to  the  wrong  end.”  Like  some  church  members, 
it  was  hard  to  tell  which  helped  and  which  hindered,  but  all  were  on  the 
right  track,  doing  something  at  least. 

Up,  up,  up  the  mountain  we  went,  snake  fashion,  sometimes  seeing 
both  front  and  back  engines  at  the  same  time,  and  sometimes  only  able  to 
see  a yard  ot  the  track  anywhere.  In  and  out  and  round  about,  jolting, 
bumping  and  hitting  things,  we  sped  on,  on  and  upward,  toward  greater 
heights.  Below  it  was  all  billowy  tops  ot  trees,  crags,  water-spouts, 
perpendicular  rocks,  and  the  San  Joaquin  River,  looking  like  a streamer  of 
narrow  green  ribbon,  waiting  for  a breeze  to  carry  it  upward  from  between 
the  rocks. 

I he  train  stopped  and  the  phonograph  began,  at  the  one  station 
en  route,  where  men  in  red  shirts  and  “cut-aways”  gathered  to  see  who 
came.  Ihe  official’s  wife  was  the  “observed  of  all  observers”  as  she 
jumped  from  the  caboose  with  the  rest,m  her  pretty  dress,  velvet  shoes,  and 
picture  hat.  We  ate  sandwiches  to  the  tune  ot  a “Spanish  fandango” 
and  then  away  went  the  squeaking,  whistling,  wriggling  train,  till  at  last 
It  slackened  again  at  a little  “coop”  m the  thickest  part  of  the  forest. 

■As  the  conductor  helped  me  out,  he  looked  round  inquiringly  and 
asked,  “ W as  any  one  to  meet  \ ou  r .Are  \ ou  sure  it  is  all  right?”  “ A es,” 
1 replied,  “it  is  all  right.  Which  way  is  north?”  A wave  of  his  hand,  a 
toot  from  the  engine,  and  slowly  the  tram  swung  itself  on  the  trestle  and 
was  soon  hidden  from  sight.  For  the  second  time  in  my  life  1 found 
myself  “all  alone  among  Indians  and  no  scared.”  But  where  were  the 
Indians?  I here  was  not  the  sign  of  any  living  creature  m sight.  Picking 
up  m\-  satchel  and  a sack  of  “good  things”  to  eat,  1 followed  a winding 
wagon  track  till  my  arms  were  tired,  and  then  I sat  down  to  rest. 

1 he  sun  peeped  at  me,  the  trees  bowed,  and  the  mountains  stood 
erect.  Suddenly  a yellow  dog  as  big  as  a calf,  followed  by  a smaller  black 
one,  came  m sight,  and  then  a big  Indian  in  corduroys,  red  shirt,  and  som- 
brero. Ihe  dogs  reached  me  hrst,  and  before  I could  scramble  to  my 
feet.  the\-  had  licked  m\-  hands  and  face  and  rolled  all  over  my  lap,  giving 
me  a most  cordial  welcome.  Bill  Sherman,  the  interpreter,  took  my 
baggage  and  in  silence  led  me  to  the  mission. 

M iss  Schofield  and  Miss  Christensen  were  not  as  demonstrative  as 
the  dogs,  nor  as  undemonstrative  as  the  Indian,  but  their  faces  fairly  shone 
as  they  greeted  me  and  led  the  way  into  their  cottage  home.  Unfinished 
as  it  was,  it  was  neat  and  clean  and  cozy,  and  the  “yard  was  a Chris- 
tian,” too. 

I he  mission  is  built  in  a sort  of  slit  between  the  hills.  Trees  wave  to 
the  right,  to  the  left,  to  the  north,  to  the  south,  far  up,  almost  to  the  sky. 
Here  and  there  as  the  eye  penetrated  the  tall  timber,  glimpses  of  little 
Indian  dwellings  could  be  distinguished,  filling  the  mind  with  wonder. 

1 5 


How  and  wh}’  do  the  Indians  live  up  there?  What  do  they  eat?  Where 
do  they  get  water?  What  do  they  do?  Have  they  heard  the  news? 

\\  hat  news ? 

1 he  greatest  news  the  earth  has  ever  heard  — the  news  that  Jesus 
Christ  came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners. 

^ es,  thev  have  heard,  and  sixty-three  of  these  poor  Monos  have 
washed  their  rohes  and  made  them  white  in  the  hlood  of  the  Lamb.  Ninety- 
six  of  them  packed  the  little  church  on  Sunday  and  twenty-four  in  quick 
succession  testified  to  the  power  of  the  gospel  to  save. 

How  did  they  hear? 

1 hrough  the  lips  and  lives  of  two  faithful  little  missionaries  who 
heeded  the  call  of  the  Master  and,  “counting  their  lives  not  dear  unto 
themselves,”  went  “all  through  the  mountains  thunder-riven”  ahead  of 
the  railroad,  and  “up  from  the  rocky  steep”  till  “there  arose  a glad  cry 
to  the  gates  of  heaven”  and  they  rejoiced  and  have  kept  on  rejoicing  ever 
since. 

The  recital  or  narrative  we  present  with  its  varying  humor  and  pathos 
needs  no  additional  comment.  It  carries  its  own  lesson.  Joyfully  these 
young  women  are  giving  the  best  years  of  their  glorious  womanhood  to 
lead  these  simple  children  of  nature  to  know  Jesus  Christ  as  the  Saviour 
of  men.  They  ask  for  no  one’s  pity,  but  out  of  our  own  gratitude  for  the 
blessings  with  which  we  are  surrounded  shall  we  not  give  them  our 
love,  our  earnest,  heartfelt  prayers,  and  our  strongest  and  most  active  co- 
operation ? 


